


so what's the one conclusion i can bring this number to?

by TheAceApples



Series: Maul & C(l)o(nes) [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: GFY, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Jedi Maul (Star Wars), M/M, Minor CC-1010 | Fox/Quinlan Vos, Not A Sith!Maul, Oral Sex, Referenced Sex Work, Touch-Starved CC-1010 | Fox, Undercover Missions, Unsafe Sex, no betas we die like man, that's not what's going on but fox has Concerns™ for a hot minute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28910154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/pseuds/TheAceApples
Summary: There are a variety of pre-approved methods for undercover agents to pass necessary information up the chain of command without compromising their mission. This is not one of them.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/Darth Maul
Series: Maul & C(l)o(nes) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756165
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	so what's the one conclusion i can bring this number to?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elouanwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elouanwrites/gifts).



> Prompted over on tumblr: "Jedi!Maul as liaison to the guard, Maul/Fox, in Fox's office ooooh scandalous?????"

When Sergeant Hound informs him that there’s an _unsavory character_ being held for _interrogation_ in his office, Fox honestly expects it to be Knight Vos.

The Jedi is tapped for undercover works so often that he’ll frequently let himself get picked up by the Guard and hauled down to Fox’s office just to pass along intel. Usually under the guise of ‘convincing’ him not to charge him with anything. It’s a game to Vos—getting Fox so worked up and distracted that he doesn’t notice when Vos slips him the intel.

When he keys open the door, though, it’s an unfamiliar Zabrak instead of the Kiffar he was expecting.

Fox doesn’t sigh, doesn’t shoot Hound a nasty look before shutting the door and keying it locked, just frowns under his helmet and evaluates the situation. It could be that Vos wasn’t able to make it himself and sent a civilian instead.

“Usually when I find someone dressed like _that_ in my office, it’s a Kiffar with an attitude fit for the Senate building,” he says, blandly, mindful of the listening devices that the Guard routinely clears out of their space.

The last pass was just two days ago, but they never catch who plants them in the first place, so it’s a possibility.

“Qinon,” the Zabrak offers, voice soft and melodic, and the use of Vos’ undercover name means little. “I’m Joy.”

Fox stares, unimpressed. “Are you, now.”

Joy’s smile is as placid as any Jedi’s. That also means little. “Well, I doubt it’s what my mother named me, but yes.” They shift slightly in the chair that Hound or someone had scrounged up for them. “Qinon was supposed to meet with a client but something came up and sent me in his stead. The building, however, was soon subject to a spice raid and your Guard took me into custody.”

“And how did that land you in my office,” Fox asks, finally moving to sit behind his desk. “Precisely.”

“Oh, Qinon mentioned that he can sometimes— _convince_ you—that he’s an upstanding citizen.”

That osi’yaim.

If Fox has to convince a sex worker that the Coruscant Guard does _not,_ actually, accept sexual favors in exchange for clemency for any crimes they may have been picked up for, he’s going to be decommissioned for beating a Jedi’s face in. He’s the CC in command of the Guard, he can do a lot of damage before anyone pulls him off.

Joy calmly continues, “He only told me, of course, because we share an employer,” and Fox’s mind goes still. Unless Vos has _actually_ gotten into the business, then... “Shila sends her regards, by the way.”

Alright. So ‘Joy’ is a Jedi of some stripe, then. Not one he recognizes but that doesn’t mean much of anything; it’s not like they have a general of their own to extract intel from.

“Whatever Qinon has told you,” he says carefully, tracking Knight Joy as they stand up and slink around his desk, “I _assure_ you that you will only be required to give a statement about whatever you may have witnessed on location prior to the raid.”

He watches with a non-zero amount of trepidation as the Jedi steps gracefully between his legs and sinks to their knees.

Joy tilts their head up slightly to meet his gaze, violet eyes twinkling in the cheap lighting of his office. “Is that so, Commander?” they say, a tiny smile tugging at one side of their mouth, and Fox is grateful for his helmet. It hides the way he flushes to the roots of his hair, the immediate dilation of his pupils, because just like Quinlan Vos, Knight Joy is _beautiful._ They put a hand carefully on the inside of his thigh. “There’s nothing you want from me?”

Buckets are a thing beauty and Fox praises the existence of the first being who ever shoved a metal can over their head and called it good.

He takes a deep breath. _“Nothing_ is required from you beyond whatever pertinent information you may have,” he repeats, fingers tightening on the arms of his chair.

Joy’s gaze flickers across his face for an indeterminate amount of time before the smile stretches into a grin. “A gift, then,” they say as they slide a thumb between the plates of his armor to press firmly against the almost faded bruise underneath, a reminder from the last time Vos had visited.

That time, uh. Hadn’t been a professional visit. And Fox is _definitely_ going to be decommissioned for whatever happens next.

“Would you like me to stop, Commander?” Joy asks as they begin to tug the pertinent armor out of magnetic alignment. "You need only tell me."

Fox looked down at them, position putting them halfway underneath his desk, looking every inch as tempting as Quinlan ever does and twice as dangerous. He swallows. "If that's what you want," he says, trying to remember not to say anything too incriminating. "I don't want you to do anything you'd rather not."

Joy rubs a hand over Fox's hardening cock and purrs, "You're sweet, Commander."

"Fox," he says, arching into the contact with a gasp. "Name's Fox."

It doesn't take long for him to get fully aroused, the lack of regular skin-contact and Joy's beauty combining into a heady mixture that has him rocking his hips up into their hand, breaths coming in pants harsh enough to be picked up by his helmet's voice filter. He and Vos fooled around whenever they had the chance, but Coruscant is no place for the vode's usual relationships with each other, and it wears on Fox; he wants to strip down and cuddle up with the rest of the Guard but he _can't,_ and the lack makes him desperate for nearly any touch he can get.

"You're very beautiful, Fox," Joy says, moving their hand despite Fox's bitten-off protest to pull his blacks down and out of the way. "Won't you take off your helmet?"

They don't wait for an answer—perhaps don't expect one at all, favorable or otherwise—just lean in and lick a wet, hot stripe up the underside of his cock and take him into their mouth before he has time to catch his breath. The sound he makes is amplified and made staticky by the helmet, unmistakable in nature to anyone passing by, but Joy barely pauses to adjust and Fox doesn't adjust at all.

Every bob of Joy's head, each swirl of their tongue, has him biting back whines because _it's so good._

He drops a hand to the back of their head, careful of the horns, and whimpers that he can't feel their skin through the thick gloves. "W-wait," he gasps out, and groans as Joy does so, even as it gives him the slightest space to think. Forcing his gaze toward the ceiling, he pulls off his helmet and lets it fall to the floor with as much care as possible, then tugs one of his gloves off with his teeth.

Joy's skin is warm and dry when he touches them again, and Fox feels a shiver work its way down his spine that they just sit there and let themselves be petted.

"May I?" they say after several long moments of sightlessly staring at the ceiling, luxuriating in the sensation of touching skin. Fox makes himself look back down and is caught by the soft, content expression on their face. He nods and Joy sounds genuine as they sigh, "Thank you."

They return to their self-appointed task with vigor, easily accepting every choppy thrust of Fox's hips and rumbling deep in their chest when he moves his fingers up to rub carefully at the base of one of their horns.

It has Fox cursing quietly into the silence and trying not to come; the vibration around his cock nearly melts what little brain he has left. Then it occurs to Fox that, unless he's mistaken about the nature of this encounter, it really _doesn't_ matter to anything but his own pride how quickly he shoots off in the mouth of a pretty Zabrak. A pretty, _Jedi_ Zabrak, on their knees in front of a clone because, thanks to Vos, they apparently think it's the best way to slip him whatever information they've gathered from their mission. If he was _really_ trying to be polite, he'd be trying get it over with as quickly as possible.

The thought circles his mind as Joy takes him deeper and deeper a little bit at a time, until the head of his cock bumps the back of their throat and he realizes how firm his grip is on the back of their head. Startled, he lets up and hopes to the Force that he hasn't been face-fucking a _Jedi—_

And then one of Joy's clamps down on his wrist, increasing the pressure and forcing their head down and down and _down,_ until he can feel their throat as they _swallow_ around him and it's over. He barely has time to hook his fingers around Joy's horns and tug them off before he's coming, striping their red and black markings with stark white fluid. He grimaces sympathy even as he melts back into his chair, spent.

"Sorry, s—Joy," he mutters, tucking himself back inside his blacks and pulling open a drawer.

Joy looks even more pleased than they were before with their fine work as Fox rips open a packet of disinfectant wipes and cleans them up as much as he can.

With his blood cooling, he starts to feel over-exposed in the open air—no helmet, only one glove, still flushed and sloppy with endorphins. A Jedi still sitting calmly on their knees in front of him, caged in by his legs on either side.

Swallowing, Fox moves his chair back, giving them as much space as he can without looming. They get to their feet with ease and no hesitation, watching him with an almost predatory stillness. His cock makes an effort to get hard again.

Joy steps close again, delicately placing one knee between his legs and catching his mouth with their own. They taste like caf and pre-come, an unpleasant combination, but Fox does his best to make it good anyway, pressing one hand to the small of their back and licking into their mouth with enthusiasm. Another rumble has him pulling them closer, thinking maybe he'll be allowed to return the favor, before Joy breaks away with a parting nip at his bottom lip and backing away.

"It's been a pleasure, Commander Fox," they say, just the slightest bit out of breath. Fox preens a little at the compliment and shivers a _lot_ at the way their voice wraps around his name. "Qinon was right about you."

Then they give an unmistakable _bow_ and slink out of the room, barely even pausing at the door.

Fox stares at them long after they're gone, wondering if he'd just had a very vivid session with his own hand. In the middle of his shift. _Right._

Sighing, he begins to pat down Vos' usual hiding places for datasticks, eventually finding one slipped into a compartment in his armor that only another clone should know about. He shakes his head and plugs it into the terminal at his desk, preparing himself to comb through an abysmal excuse for a mission report and then deliver to the Jedi Temple.

It isn't as bad as usual, Jedi tending to focus on details not particularly salient to the matter at hand, and it at least gives him a name: Knight Maul Opress of Dathomir. So, at least that's something.

Fox looks forward to being able to track Knight Maul down and return that favor.

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to point out typos, i've been working on this all day and it's past midnight and i am tired of looking at it


End file.
